Un pequeño desafío para al Imperio
by BadishWriter112
Summary: When El Presidente and his ever-faithful advisor Penultimo are unceremoniously deposed and then dumped on the hive world of Thuphinda, there's only one thing to do; get El Presidente back in power through any means possible. Crossover with Tropico but my own AU.
1. Entry to Thuphinda

Fanfic Chapter 1

Thuphinda was a disgusting place, a planet with more factories than it had blades of grass and with enough pollutants in the air in its worst areas to give someone terminal cancer after a few minutes outside. Compared to that, the beggar considered his current resting place an acceptable spot, even if the floor he slept on was covered in unknown liquids and the temperature was below a safe level. The beggar lay down his bedding on the alley floor and prepared to get a 'good' night's rest — that is until he heard the noise, a faint buzzing could be heard throughout the alleyway. The beggar went around looking for the source of the noise but found nothing, deciding the source was faulty electronics (emperor knows, this city doesn't get maintained well enough) he yet again moved his body onto his sleeping mat when something much more intrusive than a noise occurred: a bright light bathed the beggar and he jumped up in surprise, turning around to the source and being presented with a portal and being unlucky enough to look into it, the beggar's mind was shattered as he saw beings and creatures that he had only ever heard of from the local preacher warning of chaotic forces infiltrating their communities. The beggar fell to the floor as his mouth filled with blood and he let out a wet gurgling sound at the sight of the many tentacled things peering at him through the hole in reality.

On the other side of the portal the men there seemed much calmer than the poor beggar but under this facade the situation was no less chaotic.

"_Puta_! Let go of me at once! Or I'll have you shot once my men come here-"

"No-one is coming to save you tyrant." The man grinned at the newly deposed dictator. El Presidente attempted to move his arms but the two burly men on either side of him kept a firm grip. "Your time in charge of Tropico is over, I will rid this island of you and your lackey forever." A loud gulp could be heard from across the room as a small, moustached man attempted to make himself seem smaller to his captors. The men began moving their prisoners towards the portal, the strangely coloured break in time and space nauseating the ex-dictator and his aide, all the while the man at the desk began chanting from a tattered tome:

"-epgoka ng mgsyha'h nogephaii-"

The Terror of the Caribbean never heard the last words as he was thrown into the portal and his world turned to black.

The eyes and teeth of otherworldly horrors disappeared from the portal, replaced by two figures who stumbled out of the rapidly vanishing portal. The taller of the two men fell to the floor and caught his breath, the other one apprehensively looked around. "Heh, we are not in, uh, _Kanzas_ anymore eh?"

El Presidente looked up at Penultimo with loathing, "It's _Kansas_ idiota, and secondly what kind of useless 'spymaster' are you anyway? What kind of _puta madre_ tells me he can control the rebels and them lets himself get captured hmm?"

Penultimo stepped back while attempting to draw upon years of political experience to excuse his mistakes when both men heard a hoarse wheeze come out of the man on the floor. Both men looked upon the broken man with a sneer and the bearded one quickly walked towards him, grabbed him by his jacket and lifted him to his feet.

"Where are we?" El Presidente demanded from the beggar, the beggar didn't respond, he had bitten off his tongue when he saw the horrific creatures and only blood could escape his lips. El Presidente grimaced at the blood dripping onto his uniform and pushed the beggar away. At this point both men finally took a long look at where they had been transported to, and so the heat of both they clearly no longer were on earth, if the impossibly high towers above them were anything to go by. Penultimo was blown away at what he saw, massive factory stacks in the distance, hordes of what must've been millions of people milling about and a pervasive feeling of grime that covered the entire area.

The men left the alleyway, side-stepping the man but ignoring the bed spread, putting filthy bootprints over the beggar's sheets and entering the main street away from the alleyway. "_Mios dios_… Penultimo we aren't on earth anymore, that's for sure."

"_Si_…" Penultimo's words were taken from his mouth by the sight that greeted him, a grotesque vision of gothic spires and dilapidated slums, teeming masses of unwashed people, watched over by guards that were more machine than men and assaulted by gangs that belonged on the covers of silly games, not in the flesh. Penultimo looked over to his left to see the _Jefe's_ reaction and was surprised at what he saw: El Presidente, so recently deposed by men who wielded impossible powers, was smiling, he looked back at Penultimo's face, seeing his alarmed expression and his grin widened.

"Penultimo, don't you see? This is a _regalos de Dios_, this is God's gift to me, he has presented me with an opportunity-"

"What? How-" Penultimo was shocked and looked around himself "-is this a gift?, we've lost everything, Rodriguez is dead, Reagan has abandoned us and our own people fight to remove your enlightened leadership, please tell me El Presidente how is this to our advantage?"

El Presidente chuckled and through his arm around his second-in-command's shoulders, ignoring his flinch. "Ah Penultimo, look at these people, they live like dogs, clearly these guards are abominations build to do nothing more than oppress them, this is perfect; we can claim to be leaders of revolution and the masses will flock to us-"

"And what if they already have revolutionary leaders?"

El Presidente glared at Penultimo for interrupting him, the moustached man at least have the sense to look chastised. "-we will cross that bridge if we come to it, but have no doubts Penultimo, soon we will be where we belong, at the top of this shithole city, the setting is ripe for _revolució__n_! And I will have all the power I ever wanted…" The bearded man stroked his beard as he imagined the riches and wealth this world could offer him, Penultimo though merely mumbled "_we_ will have all the power…"


	2. Bar Stories

The glass was slammed down onto the bar, the bartender giving the client a glare. Penultimo couldn't care less, he hadn't even been on Thuphinda a day and he already hated the planet, it was an _ugly_and dark place, nothing like sunny Tropico, where the only thing nicer than it's weather were the people (especially the women). At least half of the duo were enjoying themselves though, Penultimo looked over his shoulder at El Presidente, looking as if he'd never left Tropico as he chatted up the clientele throughout the bar, trying to get a gauge at the political situation on the planet.

"So this emperor united all of humanity ten thousand years ago?" El Presidente didn't know what to think, this sounded too far fetched for him, but he saw that they truly believed this so he decided to go along with it.

"_God_\- Emperor actually, and yes he united all of us against the filthy xenos long ago," This man leaned forward, a true believer in this 'god', and looked closely at the ex-dictator, "why did you not know about this?"

El Presidente leaned back and grinned, "eh, well… you see...um...I, I was just wondering…" the grin fell from his face as he realised he didn't have an excuse but he quickly fired back with his own question, "so does this God-Emperor live here?"

One of the other men at the table scoffed "of course not, he lives on Holy Terra-"

"Terra?, You mean Earth?" El Presidente felt lighter all of a sudden, his home still existed, "How can I get there?"

The three men around the table looked at him, their eyes wide, then the short one began laughing, soon they were all laughing. El Presidente grinded his teeth, "This isn't anything to laugh about, I need to get to Earth-"

One of them slowed his laughter, attempting to calm down, "I'm sorry, but no one I know has ever gone to Terra, and those who have attempted the pilgrimage, well… they never come back."

That wouldn't be a problem, Penultimo thought as he overheard the conversation, at least they could maybe get back to their island…

El Presidente had listened to the stories the manufactorum workers had about the emperor and his ilk, clearly it was all ridiculous, told to keep them subservient under their abusive leaders (of course El Presidente had no problem with this, if only he had been able to create such a cult around himself). He leaned forward and asked "If the Emperor is so far away; does he affect this planet in any serious ways?"

The three men put on their thinking faces and they each gave their answer,

"No, not really…"

"Hmmm… no…"

"I don't think so… oh! Other than those black ships though"

One of the workers recoiled and reprimanded him, telling him he couldn't can't about that-

"No no, please, I'd very much like to hear _this_story." The bearded man already could tell this was a controversial topic, a great chance at finding reasons for disconnect these people felt he could exploit later.

"Well," the man started nervously, "the Emperor, in all his glory, has decreed that the mutant shall not live…"

"... Which is what the black ships are for?" El Presidente wanted to move this conversation on, to reach the injustice he could rail against to build his image on this planet.

"Yes, yes, the black ships come and they take the freak children of sinners." The man leaned back, satisfied with his acceptably vague explanation of the topic. El Presidente saw through this easily though.

"And how do they know these children are mutants?"

The man frowned, how was he meant to know? "Well the authorities have some way of figuring it out, I don't know the method though."

"Ah but do these children look any different?, maybe that's the method-"

"Uh no-" the second man blurted out, sheepishly he looked at the first man, now glaring at his colleagues, "- they look like any other children."

_I've got them_, The bearded man grinned internally, already the seeds of doubt had been planted. "And I gather the parents are distraught when their children are taken from them?"

"Well of course they are, but they're sinners; it isn't my problem." The first man said in a righteous manner. The third man looked nervously at the first man, " well, Stevyn… remember Emelyne? I heard her child was taken by a black ship last cycle." The first man looked surprised.

"Emelyne?, the pretty girl from Sek two-three-four-"

"Now before you all go down memory lane, you know this Emelyne?" This just kept getting better, just his luck he found people who'd been affected by this _great_injustice.

The three men said yes to his question and El Presidente put on a face of sympathy, "_Mios Di_\- By the Emperor, imagine how devastated she must feel…"

"Yes she was distraught, and to think she still has two other children to feed and care for." The third man lamented.

"Ach, the entire family must be at the end of their wits. By the Emperor…" the second man looked up and opened his mouth- then closed it, thinking twice about his choice of words.

"We are all friends here I hope… come, speak your mind." The man opened his mouth

"I think this is all a bit… bad? No? I mean this ship comes, it's not even from here… and it just takes our children, I mean… what's even wrong with them? I've seen the freaks in the underhive, I mean they're the real muties and no black ship ever comes to take them away." The entire table wore faces of deep thought, El Presidente giddy with the ease of springing doubts in the local's minds and the three men conflicted with their recent, treasonous thoughts and the decades of teaching by the local preacher.

"Huh… if only someone would fight for your rights as humans eh?" The Tropican queried the table and as expected, the second man returned with a second set of treasonous thoughts.

"Yeah, he's right, were the Emperor's chosen people and what? We're treated worse than the freaks below us, they're children aren't taken away? they don't have these huge taxes to pay? and last time I checked, I've never seen any of them sign up for the Imperial Guard, I mean have any of you?" This got the two other men nodding in agreement and surprisingly enough, some nearby tables showed appreciation for the thoughts on display.

El Presidente got up, the men looked at him in surprise, "We are you going?" the first man asked.

"Ah well my friend at the bar there says I have an appointment with the...um...doctor?" The ex-dictator swore at himself for such a flimsy excuse, normally he was better than this. Thankfully the three men took this as the truth and bid him farewell, saying he was always welcome at this table with them, El Presidente thanked them and quickly walked out of the bar, Penultimo downing his drink (some disgusting concoction that tasted like gasoline) quickly raced after his boss, leaving some _pesos_on the bar, ignoring the bartender's confusion at the unknown currency.

"Eh, so _Jefe..._we good?"

El Presidente laughed "Ah, _mi amigo_, we are more than 'good', heh, these people are so oppressed; even their children are taken from them!"

Penultimo frowned, "why would kidnapped children be good for us-"

"- If that's just one injustice shown on these people, just imagine how angry they must feel at every other injustice visited upon them." Penultimo was really confused now, "but they look content to me…"

El Presidente sighed at Penultimo's lack of imagination, "They won't be content for long, just as Marx and Engels did, we will teach them of the injustices visited upon them and _revolución_comes we will be at its forefront! In the vanguard!"


	3. And the Lord spoke to El Presidente

Loud steps could be heard coming up the stairs, turning and moving towards their room, the door slammed open and four men walked in, moving towards the two beds and dragging the inhabitants out of the room and forcing them towards the ground floor, ignoring their protests and groggy questions.

The receptionist of the Emperor's Inn glared at both of his guests, "Where's the rest of your gold?"

It was at this point, El Presidente knew he had fucked up. "Heh… _puta_, we don't have anymore, that was the last bar."

Penutimo cried out as one of the men punched him across the face. El Presidente grimaced, he never should have paid for this hotel room with a solid bar of gold, but he had no local currency and he'd never sell off his clothing.

"I know you're lying, just tell me where the rest of your gold is and no one has to get hurt-"

"I'm already hurt," Penultimo said petulantly, earning himself a punch to the gut.

"I don't want to ask nicely again, so just tell me, where is your gold?" El Presidente sneered at the man talking to him.

"As I said earlier, we don't have anymore."

One of the Innkeepers goons came down the stairs shrugging his shoulders saying he hadn't found any of the gold in their room. The Innkeeper glared at his clients.

"_Tu coño_, I'll be sure to give you a one-star review" The ex-dictator received a nose shattering blow for that, reeling back and spitting blood onto the floor. The Innkeeper simply gestured for the men to leave his establishment.

* * *

The men groaned as they supported each other into the nearest alleyway, much worse for wear. El Presidente had had his aviators smashed, his face beaten and his uniform ripped, Penultimo had fared just as badly, having been punched in the stomach multiple times, even having his groin targeted for a few blows, his clothing also filthy and ripped.

Both men stumbled into the alley, hoping to recover with some peace and quiet when a gust of air caught Penultimo's attention.

"_Jefe_, did you feel that?" El Presidente didn't respond. Penultimo looked towards his boss and seeing the man standing still, his mouth open and eyes wide, Penltuimo turned his gaze towards whatever had captured his attention.

His eyes were assaulted at the image in front of him: a door in the alley wall, where there had been none earlier, on the door was a crucifix, which both men were already prostrating themselves before and beyond the door, a blinding white light.

"_Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo. santificado sea tu nombr_-" El Presidente had begun reciting the prayer when he got up, no longer in control of his body, and opened the door, dragging Penultimo along with him.

Both men stumbled through the doorway, back in control of their bodies and stood shocked at the scene before them. They were in a small room, the walls covered by frescoes of scenes of the bible, but nothing like they were used to seeing, instead of the majesty of Michelangelo or Raphael, these had been defaced, scratched out of existence and human memory. On the rotten, wooden altar in front of them, they found copies of the Bible, the Quran, and Torah, all missing pages, all desiccated and on the floor both men saw the wine and bread of communion spilled.

El Presidente and Penultimo were shocked, but after the last few days, how shocking could this be? And at the very least they were comfortable (and hopefully safe) in a house of God. That's when they heard the whispers, the pleas and worst of all: the stories.

Both men stood paralyzed as they saw the destruction of their faith; of God creating man and woman, of Adam's third son, of his own banishment as Cain killed Abel, of the mysterious advisor to the Pharaoh as Moses beseeched him, of Jesus forgiving this man and accepting him into his flock, of that man's betrayal as he kisses his leader on the cheek.

Both feel the breath against their skin, _Traitor_, the visions continue; the butchery of the Lord's chosen people, an indistinct man saluting the Third Reich, nuclear fire raining upon all people everywhere, the Lord's sorrow, the rise of the _Usurper_, the destruction of Jerusalem, the Kaaba being brought low and the burning of St Peter's Cathedral, Michelangelo's frescoes melting, it's characters crying in the face of the hatred of the Emperor's legions.

The men, no longer captive to horrific sights, collapsed upon the floor, weeping.

"Dios, que puedo hacer?" El Presidente cried out, his mind reeling from the images imprinted there forever.

_Terra is lost, but you can cleanse Thuphinda, burn away the Usurper's men, salt his fields, a new flood shall come to clean this stain, and YOU shall be its prophet._

The room left them, both men sprawled across the floor in that damp alleyway, filled with holy fire, sure in their convictions and burning with desire to return his flock to the Lord.

El Presidente, gasping for air, looked up at the smog-filled, black sky and told Penultimo

"Seems we can't catch a break eh? _A mal tiempo, buena cara_." He attempted to smile, only grimacing in pain as his broken nose refused to cooperate.


	4. At the Aquila

Chapter 4

Winter was the worst time of the year, the fumes and pollution of the manufactorums had both melted the snow as it reached the ground but had also discoloured it to a sickly grey. It was a common warning from parents to their children to not play or eat the snow, scared at the many ailments that would come from eating a handful of snow with an equivalent amount of harmful substances in it as a rod of uranium.

Trudging along the sleet-covered walkways, the man pulled the tattered cloak tightly around him, hoping to stave off the cold winds. Up ahead of him was _The Aquila_, the local bar that many of his fellow manufactorum workers went to after a very (very) hard day at work. Personally he'd never really liked going to the bar, always finding it too empty to have fun in but the man he'd been working with on the belt said the bar had become a lot more popular recently thanks to some speaker they had brought in. He'd asked if this was just another preacher but his coworker had said this new speaker was actually interesting, who had given him a lot to 'think over'. The man was nervous, normally something to 'think over' meant you probably shouldn't question it in the first place.

Coming up towards the bar, the man could see it was nearly fully packed, he wouldn't be able to find a seat if any more people arrived. He opened the door to feel a wave of hot air reach him, a welcome break from the cold outside and as he moved among the back row of seats looking for somewhere to sit he looked up and saw the man who was speaking and making a clear effect on his listeners. The man was confused, the figure on the stage was dressed strangely, a green coat over a shirt with a strange small scarf around his neck, dark glasses covering his eyes and a large beard. He'd never seen anyone dressed like that, maybe he was a noble, but what was a noble doing speaking to the rabble here?

As he leaned back into his chair, basking in the warmth as the numbness in his feet receded, he paid attention to the words this man was speaking to the packed room.

"- you work long hours doing hard labour and what do you get for it?" The bearded man pointed to someone in front and received an answer.

"Did you all hear what this man said? What does he gain from working for your nobles?" The crowd remained silent.

"The loss of a leg! This man lost his leg in one of the manufactorums and what support has he received?" The crowd remained silent but for one man on the left side of the pub to stand up and say "nothing!" The crowd murmured and and a strange tension began to fill the room, the occupants frightened at their newly found thoughts that strayed too close to treason.

The worker frowned, he knew the man who had lost his leg, Isaac had been a hard worker, he'd never complained but when the manufactorum took his leg he had been let go, without so much as a thanks from the supervisors. Now that he thought about it, it was a horrible way to treat the workers, but that was how it'd always been, his father's father had worked at the very same manufactorum, had died working there and as far as he was told, the family he left behind received no aid. The subject of discussion in the room, sat uneasily with the worker, just that day one of the overhead pipes had burst, spraying boiling fuel and thankfully, just missing him. He knew that the pipe would be fixed shoddily, stories of structural weaknesses reported by workers being ignored were plentiful among the residents of Sektor 12C.

The sound of clapping reached his ears and he broke from his earlier thoughts, seeing that the man had finished speaking, staying to converse with some of the audience that seemed especially taken with the bearded man. The worker got off his chair and hesitated but put away his face of indecision and walked towards the bearded man, the supervisors and higher nobility clearly didn't take care of their workers and he wanted to see what he could do about it, if there was anything possible but with the way speaker had spoken with such confidence and zeal, he would have some ideas.

The worker missed the mustached man in the corner of the room as he walked to El Presidente, Penultimo only smiled at the scene in front of him, a large number of the audience had stayed behind, forgoing home instead to speak to the orator. If they kept this up, they'd have a dedicated following throughout Sektor 12C and no movement is possible without followers. He'd shown skepticism at the plan but El Presidente seemed to be correct (when wasn't he?), the workers easily outnumbered the authorities, what better way to take control than via the clearly unheard, angry masses?

El Presidente looked over at Penultimo, both men smiled at each other, if this popularity carried on and grew, they'd be in charge in no time.


	5. Forced Conversion

Chapter 5

The preacher watched his congregation leave the square, the men going to finish their day of work at the manufactorum and the women leading their children home. The preacher got off the box he'd been standing on and with his servitor, dutifully carrying the holy scriptures, they walked out onto one of the many pathways of Thuphinda. The pathway was merely one amongst a million, surrounded on all sides by the urban sprawl of the hive city, with thousands of levels below it teeming with life and the tall spires of the towers above, of course this was all theoretical as the smog and haphazard outline of the city meant that no man had seen the tops of these towers, much less the sky itself, in thousands of years.

The preacher and his servitor strolled along the walkway towards the local church for Sektor 12C, greeting passerbys, administering prayers for ailments and carefully watching for signs of heresy or corruption amongst his flock. The preacher had finished reprimanding a group of local boys for failing to make the sign of the holy Aquila in his presence when he heard the chanting. The preacher walked past the boys to the edge of the walkway and looked down over the railing. Peering through the thick smog and the lights of the city, he saw a large of crowd of people, packed on a single walkway, unknowingly blocking key workers who that day wouldn't be able to produce necessary supplies, dooming an entire regiment of Imperial Guard to be eaten by Tyranids in a few months somewhere in the Segmentum Tempestus. The preacher, not recognising the words drifting up to him, bade his servitor to carry on to the church while he rushed down the walkways, making sure to not trip or fall, a fatal mistake often made on the unattended pathways of the mid-hive.

The preacher rushed down to the level of the crowd and stopped. The crowd was large, larger than any congregation he'd ever lead, it stretched for what must have been hundreds of metres. The preacher stood at the back, listening to the words being spoken and repeated, looking for corruption and heresy, instead he found the most famous man in Sektor 12C. On large speakers the man spoke about the injustices handed to these workers, the ignorance and abandonment by their 'lords'. This talk screamed of treason but the preacher wasn't an idiot, the crowd clearly believed this man and to openly speak out against the bearded demagogue would only incite the crowd, he himself didn't want to be harmed and a riot anywhere within the hive city would bring the Arbites out in force, knowing their methods; The Sektor would be depopulated very quickly. Furthermore, the preacher could see this man believed in the Emperor and all his good, why else did he include references to 'God' within every few sentences? The preacher decided he would talk to the speaker face to face, to look for signs of the heretic within him. The robed man began to wade his way through the crowd, some people recognising the markings of the Ministorum and making way, others failing to observe their surroundings, thus receiving a shove or an elbow to move. Near the podium the preacher began to cry out to the speaker, demanding to speak with him. The speaker didn't notice the priest until one of his companions, clearly a local, a manufactorum worker, pointed into the crowd and whispered into the bearded man's ear. The bearded man told the crowd he would take a momentary pause, earning groans from the listeners but nonetheless the preacher was hoisted onto the stage by some of the audience and was invited 'backstage' to speak.

Once backstage, the preacher found himself outnumbered by the strange bearded man and a second companion he hadn't seen, but strangely dressed as well with a fashion of mustache he'd never seen [maybe some of the nobility wore theirs in such a way]? The bearded man spoke first,

"Ave Imperator, preacher, what brings you to our little gathering all the way down here in Sek12?"

The preacher didn't smile, the bearded man had smiled at his own joke but there were questions he needed answered, if they weren't answered satisfactorily, the Arbites would have another execution scheduled at the end of the day.

"Ave Imperator to you too, I couldn't help but listen to your speech, you clearly have a dedicated following amongst these workers and families but your speech sounded...off"

The bearded man raised an eyebrow and responded as calmly as he had when he'd greeted the priest, which only deepened the priest's fears.

"Firstly I forgot to introduce myself, you can call me El Presidente-"

"I-I'm sorry, what's your name? I don't think i've ever heard that lang-" the priest was interrupted by the bearded man putting his arms around him and moving his mouth to the preacher's ear.

"I know what you came here to ask, and I'll answer your question, _pendejo_; I'm a heretic, the man with the mustache is a heretic, everyone in this sektor, no, this planet, will soon be a heretic."

The preacher widened his eyes in anger, his fears had been realised, he had to escape the clutches of this deranged man, this traitor and contact the deacon, the arbites, even the PDF! There were thousands of people here, being corrupted and turned from the Emperor's light-

Ironically, concerning the preacher's final thought, his panic was cut short by the bright light that overloaded his retinas. El Presidente had done nothing, he'd merely accepted the Lord's light and had offered a man who would be of use. From what the men backstage could see, all loyal followers of the growing cult, the preacher had been forced to his knees, eyes wide open, suffering from seizures throughout his body and completely unresponsive to the material world. For a few minutes the men stopped and stared at the priest as the seizures slowly faded away as he regained awareness and sight. The man who stood up wasn't the same as the preacher who had spread the creed just earlier that morning; This man had seen the light, had been bombarded with images of Gomorragh and the flood and knew he had to convert his flock, to fail was to doom them all.


End file.
